


In the Deep End

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kidfic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has no idea why Aimee insisted he sign up for this baby swimming class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://tmblr.co/Zs4AGo19_CEND).

Nick starts mentally swearing fifteen seconds after he wakes up, and doesn’t stop until they’re finally in the car forty-five minutes later.

Just, fuck. Why today, out of every single day in her entire six months of life thus far, had Callie suddenly decided to sleep in past six AM? Why couldn’t she have done it months ago, when he’d been practically hallucinating from sleep deprivation, or last week when he’d had an epic hangover after his first night out since she was born?

But no, today, when they actually have somewhere to be at nine o’clock, _today_ , she sleeps until eight.

"We told silly Auntie Aimee that this was a bad idea, didn’t we?" Nick says, slightly hysterically, as he rushes through making Callie’s morning bottle. "We told her you don’t need to learn how to swim, and certainly not at this silly class at nine o’clock in the morning. But she insisted, didn’t she?"

"Baa hoo," Callie says from her bouncy chair.

"That’s right, love," Nick says. He hands her the bottle and she takes it with a gummy smile. "Silly Auntie Aimee. Now, I don’t suppose you know where daddy’s swimming trunks might be?"

She doesn’t have any helpful suggestions, and Nick ends up spreading almost the entire contents of his wardrobe over his bedroom before he finally digs up an old pair of red swimming shorts that he last remembers wearing years ago in Ibiza. He has no idea if they’ll still fit - there’ve been an awful lot of four AM feeds fuelled by Jaffa Cakes since then - but they’re running horribly late already and he still needs to change and dress Callie and pack her bag. They’ll have to do.

 **

He bangs through the front doors of Totswim at a quarter past nine pushing Callie’s buggy with his left hand, her giant nappy bag in his right, and an apology on his lips. “Sorry, sorry, I’m running so late. I’m Nick and this is Callie, we’re meant to be in the nine o’clock class?”

"You would be Nicholas Grimshaw, then, I presume?" The receptionist’s tone could probably cut diamonds, which, coincidentally, she has plenty of scattered about her person. That might explain the exorbitant fees this place charges. "You are indeed late," she continues, "and normally you would not be able to enter once the class has started, but as it is the first week I will make an exception." She stands. "Please follow me, I will show you the changing room."

Nick trails behind her, pushing his daughter’s buggy and yet feeling bizarrely like he’s back at school being sent to the principal’s office. Christ, how had Aimee found this place, and why the hell had she said, “You can thank me later,” when she’d signed him up for these sessions? She definitely owes him a drink or three based on the experience so far.

It only gets worse when the receptionist stops outside the men’s change room and says, “You may change in here, Mr Grimshaw. And I presume you have brought the approved swimming nappy for your daughter that was posted to you in your welcome pack?”

Nick’s heart sinks. “Er,” he says. “It’s possible that I have not?” He can picture it, sitting on the hall table at home, put there so he wouldn’t forget it. Fuck.

The receptionist’s expression sours even further. “Oh dear,” she says, clearly meaning nothing of the sort. “What a shame. I’m afraid we don’t allow infants in the water unless they are in the approved nappy.”

Nick’s paying forty quid a week for this experience, it’s absolutely unbelievable. “You mean - that’s it? Callie can’t go in? We just go home?”

"I suppose I could ask the tutor if he will allow you to sit in on the session, so you don’t fall behind. Although of course she won’t be allowed into the water." She purses her lips. "Wait here."

It’s three minutes before she returns, and Nick spends the time plotting ever more inventive ways to pay Aimee back for this disaster. Callie, unhappy as always about being trapped in her buggy, contributes excellent suggestions of, “Waheee!” and, “dagabaa.” She’s too forgiving, Nick feels.

"Well," says the receptionist when she comes back. "You’ve been very lucky, the tutor has kindly agreed to allow you to sit in. He suggests that you might still like to change, Mr Grimshaw, so that you’re able to participate in as much of the class as possible."

Nick’s mind flashes to his too-small red trunks. _Great._

 

Nick’s not feeling particularly good about himself as he pushes open the door to the pool, Callie balanced on one hip. He’s managed to get the top button done up on his trunks, but there’s a bit of muffin top action happening that he’s not very proud of, and the full-length mirrors in the change room were proof that his lack of coffee, shower and time to sort out his hair have all had the expected result of making him look rather older than his thirty one years. At least he doesn’t have to worry about trying to impress anyone: the class is almost certainly going to be all women. Nick’s gotten used to being quite literally the odd man out at anything baby-related.

The pool door squeals loudly as it swings shut behind him and the fourteen women and their babies sat in a circle by the side of the pool turn as one to stare in his direction. Nick tries for a smile and gives a little wave with his free hand. There’s nothing like being twenty minutes late, dressed like it’s still 2004 and with hair like a bird’s nest to help make new friends.

And then a young, tanned, tattooed man wearing a pair of tiny tangerine trunks bounces to his feet in the middle of the group and Christ, Nick suddenly understands exactly why Aimee had signed him up for this class. He is going to _murder_ her.

"Hi!" the vision in orange shorts says. "You must be Nick and Callie. Welcome! I’m Harry, I’m the tutor for this class. Will you come and be part of our circle?"

Nick actually feels a bit lightheaded as he goes over and joins the group, settling on the floor with Callie in his lap. It’s obviously due to the chlorine in the air, and nothing at all to do with tutor Harry’s pecs or tattoos or the way his dark curly hair keeps flopping down into his eyes so that he’s continually pushing it out of the way as he talks — oh fuck, who is Nick kidding, of course it’s because of Harry, he’s exactly Nick’s type. Aimee’s such a cow. She knows Nick’s not had a shag in six months. This is practically torture.

"So, Nick and Callie," Harry says, then pauses to pull a funny face at Callie when he notices her watching him. A mum from the other side of the group lets out a little high-pitched giggle. Nick can’t blame her, he’s not far off giggling hysterically himself. "Let me catch you up on what we’re going to do today."

 **

So it turns out that when they said “baby swimming class,” what they actually meant was, “everyone stand around in the water holding your baby whilst a young man with an improbably pleasant voice sings you nursery rhymes.”

By the third rendition of “Humpty Dumpty,” Nick has murdered and resurrected Aimee in his mind so many times that he hopes she’s feeling dizzy, wherever she is. It’s just - how could she not have warned him about Harry? It’s typical that Nick would meet the first really attractive man he’s seen in months whilst looking about as sexy as Bill Nighy in _Love, Actually_ \- or possibly even worse, as he remembers Gills drunkenly admitting one night whilst watching Bill’s Christmas Number One striptease that actually she _would_ , and he’s pretty sure even someone who’d not had a shag in years _wouldn’t_ with him right now.

It’s small consolation that he’s obviously not the only one affected by Harry’s charm; Nick’s never seen so many fluttering, waterproof mascaraed eyelashes in one place. These mums must’ve known what they were in for.

"Alright, everybody!" Harry says, clapping his hands together like a happy seal. "Let’s have a break from singing for a minute and just enjoy some free swimming time."

This seems to be the cue for almost everyone in the water to swarm around Harry, like piranha on a particularly tasty morsel. “Gosh, you have such a lovely voice,” he hears one mum say. “Are you professionally trained?” Another dangles her perturbed looking baby boy in front of Harry’s nose. “Don’t you think Nigel might have the makings of an Olympic swimmer?”

Nick, stuck on the side of the pool with just his feet dangling in the water, tunes out the rest of the conversation to concentrate on Callie instead. At least she seems to be having fun; he’s wrestled her out of her leggings so she can splash her bare feet around and she’s loving it, squealing away every time she sends up a shower of droplets.

"And how are you, Miss Callie? Are you having a good time?"

Nick’s head jerks up. He hadn’t heard Harry coming over, but there he is, escaped from the pack that’d been surrounding him and looking at Callie with an expectant expression as though she’s actually going to answer him.

"Aieee!" she says, huge grin on her face, and kicks in Harry’s direction. Nick tries not to notice the way her splashing sends droplets of water running off Harry’s collarbones. And Christ, are those extra nipples on his chest under those ridiculous bird tattoos?

"Well, that’s lovely to hear, Miss Callie, and may I compliment you on your excellent splashing? Quite the best I’ve seen today." Harry gives her a little tickle on the soles of her feet then turns to Nick with an apologetic look and says, more quietly, "And are you alright? I’m sorry about the rubbish with the swimming nappies. I would let her come in anyway but they’re sticklers for rules, here."

"Oh, no, it’s my fault entirely," Nick says, trying to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind saying _oh my god, the fit boy is talking to me! Quick, say something cool and witty_. Fuck, he’s so out of practise. “I, er, was running late this morning and wasn’t very organised, as you can probably tell.” He scrubs a hand through his unwashed, unstyled hair as if to say, see? and then immediately regrets it. What the fuck is wrong with him, drawing attention to his dishevelled state?

But Harry just grins. “Mate, don’t worry about it. Anybody with a baby who manages to leave the house before midday is already doing brilliantly, if you ask me.” He leans in a bit closer, under the guise of tickling Cassie, and says, “Besides, I reckon you still look pretty good.”

Harry moves off again straight away, leaving Nick with his mouth gaping in a no-doubt utterly unattractive manner. Had Harry really just - surely he hadn’t - had he?

A few moments later Harry calls the group back together to sing some more nursery rhymes. He doesn’t pay Nick and Callie any special attention, and by the end of the half hour session Nick’s managed to convince himself that he must’ve misheard Harry - that, or perhaps being flirted with is all part of the Totswim service. Harry definitely couldn’t have meant anything by it, anyway. It was just Nick getting overexcited because he hasn’t had a shag in six months and Harry’s the fittest bloke he’s seen in ages.

 **

A side benefit of being the only man in the group is that Nick has a change room to himself after the lesson. He’s just got Callie back into her leggings and strapped into her buggy so he can get himself sorted when the door from the pool opens with a squeal and Harry comes in.

"Hiiii," he says. "You don’t mind if I interrupt, do you? Only there’s only one set of men’s and I’m in need of a shower." He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and although Nick knows he must still have his swimming trunks on underneath, there’s something about the sight of a trail of dark hair disappearing into the towel that’s making Nick think _nakednakednaked_.

"Nick? Is that alright?" Harry says, with the air of one who’s repeating himself for the third or fourth time.

Nick gives himself a little shake. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, come on in.”

"Thanks, mate." Harry flashes him a smile as he heads towards the showers and a moment later Nick hears the sound of water running. Right, Nick’ll have to skip the shower himself, then; he’ll just stay chloriney and wash at home. There’s no way he’s stripping off next to someone who looks like Harry, his fragile ego won’t be able to take it.

Nick’s squeezed his damp legs back into his skinnies and got his shoes on when he hears the water shut off. He debates trying for a silent escape before Harry emerges but that’s a bit rude, really, as Harry’s been nothing but polite to him, even if he’s only doing his job.

"Er, we’re off, then," he says loudly. "See you next week, I promise not to forget anything next time."

"Hold on, don’t go!" Harry calls. A few seconds later he comes back around the dividing wall that leads to the showers. He’s got the towel around his waist again but he’s got his orange swimming trunks in his hand - which means - holy fuck.

Nick’s brain stops working.

"Before you go, d’you mind if I say something?" Harry asks. His hair’s all wet and curling damply over his forehead.

Nick manages to nod through the chant of _naked! naked! naked!_ going on in his head.

"I really wanted to - " Harry pauses. "So, like I absolutely shouldn’t be saying this, you’ve no idea the amount of time they spend telling us not to let on if anyone famous brings their kids in, and I really can’t afford to be sacked, like, this is the only job that fits in with my uni schedule and still lets me pay my rent, although my flatmate Niall did get promoted last week, so maybe he could cover me while I look for another job…" he trails off, brow furrowed. "Um, what was I saying?"

It shouldn’t be endearing, the way Harry rambles, but Nick can’t help the smile on his face as he prompts, “Something you’re not meant to tell me?”

Harry’s frown clears. “Right! Yeah. So I used to listen to you on the radio all the time, like from when you did the night show right up until you finished at the breakfast show, and I just wanted to say, y’know, thanks.”

Nick feels himself flush with pleasure. It shouldn’t still be a thrill after all this time to hear people say they’d liked him on the radio, but it is; maybe even more so in recent months when he’s felt like nothing more than a bottle-making, nappy-changing machine. He loves Callie to pieces but it’s nice to be reminded that he has other skills. “You’re thanking me for being on the radio? It was absolutely my pleasure.”

"Well, yeah, but not just for that. Because, like, I’m in a band, with a few of my mates? I’m the lead singer, music’s what I really want to do - "

Oh. Nick’s heart sinks as soon as Harry says band. He should’ve guessed this was coming; why else would a gorgeous, charming young man like Harry want to talk to an old fogey like him? “I can’t get your band on the radio,” he says, cutting Harry off. “That’s not what I do, that’s not what being a DJ is about. Sorry.”

"What?" Harry looks horrified. "No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant at all. Sorry, I’m bollocksing this up. Oh, shit, sorry, I shouldn’t swear in front of Callie - and I just did it again, sorry, oh God."

Nick can’t hide his smile. “Hey, you’re fine. He’s fine, isn’t he, Callie?” She continues to suck thoughtfully on her thumb. “See? Not offended at all. What did you mean?”

"What I meant to say was - when you came out, publicly? That really helped me, a lot, to see that it’s possible to come out as gay and not have people see it as, like, the only important thing about you."

Nick’s heart actually, properly, skips a beat. It’s a horribly thumpy feeling, he doesn’t know why it’s supposed to be romantic. “Oh. Are you - um - ?”

Harry shrug. “I’m not really a fan of arbitrary labels, but yeah, I’ve been out with men as well as women. So when the band gets big,” when, not if, Nick notes, but somehow with Harry’s voice and passion he can’t quite imagine him not succeeding, “I’m sure someone will notice and try to make a big deal about it. And I’d been kind of worrying about it, before, but you just handled everything so calmly and with so much class, even when people were giving you shit about adopting, so yeah. Thanks.”

"Well, I - I’m glad it’s helped you, then."

Harry dimples at him. “Wicked. Hey, so, now that I’ve got that out, do you think we could - like, I can’t while you and Callie are in my class, but at the end of term - do you think you might like to get a drink with me?”

"You mean." Nick stops, then tries again, "Sorry, I’m really out of practise at this, I’ve not really been out since I’ve had Callie, so sorry if I’ve got this all wrong, but. Did you mean a date?" If he does, Nick’s going to owe Aimee so much for signing him up for these classes. Possibly this is even worth Jared Leto’s mobile number.

Harry’s smile has turned a bit uncertain, but at least he’s still smiling. “I’d really like it to be a date, yeah. Or - if you don’t want to leave Callie with a babysitter, maybe we can go for a picnic during the day or something so she can come along too?”

"You - really? You’d want her to come along?"

Harry shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Of course. I’d really like to get to know you better, and she’s a big part of who you are, so yeah, absolutely.”

Nick’s beginning to wonder if he’s still sleep deprived and Harry is just a product of his fevered imagination. He can’t possibly be real. An incredibly attractive bloke, who sings in a band - Nick’s not-so-secret weakness - who also likes kids.

"Nick? Is that a yes or a no?" Harry’s got knobbly toes, Nick notices. He must be real. Nick would never imagine toes like that.

"It’s a yes," he says. "Definitely a yes."

 **

Nick and Callie are fifteen minutes early for next week’s class. It’s alright, though, because it gives Nick just enough time to snog Harry in the changing room before they start.


End file.
